


Dance with the Devil

by Warriorette12



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Character(s), Murder Mystery, Originally on FanFiction.net, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warriorette12/pseuds/Warriorette12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both the Doctor and Sherlock are pulled into a nightmare where their enemy is much darker than the average murderer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For the Doctor, this is set after Forest of the Dead.
> 
> For Sherlock, this is set after The Hounds of Baskerville but before The Reichenbach Fall.

_The man could feel harsh nightmare fingers spanning his face, dragging him back from the display of dolls. Eerily beautiful plastic faces stared at him as he was pulled into the darkness as deep as their sockets…pulled back into a more real nightmare._

_He awoke, every bone in his body aching, his glasses lying slightly bent in front of him. The fear coursing through his veins reached their paramount as he looked back and saw the girl, no, creature, standing stoically behind him. He was horrified to see smoke-like energy swirling around her, no, it. This was no girl. No human being could torture him the way it did._

_His brain screamed for him to get help and he reached into his pocket, keeping one eye on the monster; he was too afraid to face it, yet he couldn't turn his back. It just stood there, a blank expression on its face as it stared at the ground. His fingers fumbled his cell phone, smashing down on the buttons. 999._

_"I NEED HELP NOW!" he screamed into the receiver._

_And that's when the world ended._

_A huge explosion behind him made him turn around, although he instantly regretted it. The cloud of smoke had grown, leeching up to the ceiling and across the floor like smog. The creature was still standing in the same position. He became more and more afraid of the moment when it raised its head._

_Something moved from within the cloud. Familiar black spindly fingers waved to him as it loomed, powerful and dark —a skeleton, shrouded in tar. White, bottomless eyes completed the terrifying image. The small child below it was consumed in a pale green light and the man was vaguely reminded of a puppet show. The child was the puppet. Now, he faced the puppet-master._

_The shockwave hit him with a force that would have knocked him down if it wasn't for his determination to stay upright…and stay breathing, even if it was a few seconds longer. The girl-monster looked up at him with murder in its eyes, and stomped on the ground with a chilling finality. It was then that he knew his time was up. The help he had pleaded for would not arrive to save him. But he didn't go like he thought he would; his life didn't flash before his eyes, he didn't feel the final struggle to stay alive. He didn't feel anything…except the ice-cold fear._

_The girl raised her hands, poised to deliver the final blow. The monster behind her sent a pulse that pushed the dead man into the stone wall— the girl mimicked his actions— holding him there as his strength slowly drained out of him. His life force was pushed out of him as black smog, fighting outwards from the blows as the creature struck him again and again. He closed his eyes as the girl wrung her hands. With a twist, she finished the deed, and he never opened his eyes again._

_xxxxxxxxxx_

_Five minutes later, a pale, slender finger slowly dragged itself diagonally down the side of the wall. It was an almost artistic stroke, as if the murky liquid that trailed behind it was part of a masterpiece. It crossed through four other slashes as a tally. All over the wall, similar tally marks lay side by side, painted on in grim fashion._

_The girl admired her handiwork, then turned and disappeared into the darkness._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This cold opening was inspired by the music video for 'First of the Year' by Skrillex.


	2. Something Wicked

"Detective Inspector, you promised me an interesting case." Sherlock Holmes said as he strode down the alleyway, dressed in his usual black coat, "I really hope you aren't wasting my time." Behind him, his companion John Watson rolled his eyes.

He, too, also hoped that Lestrade's supposedly promising case would hold enough to pique Sherlock's interest. He had just about enough of Sherlock moping around the flat, messing with random experiments that cluttered the kitchen, and playing his violin like he'd never picked it up before. Boredom, Sherlock called it. Hah!

"It's pretty odd," Lestrade assured Sherlock, "The victim died of a broken neck, but there are no signs of strangulation or a fall. No signs of self-defense. A Blackberry phone, supposedly his own, was found beside him with the last dialed number as 999—that's how we found him. There were also strange burn marks found a few feet away from his body, as well as a toy phone."

"A toy phone?" John asked, raising his eyebrows.

Lestrade nodded. "And we have no idea who it belongs to."

The three men reached a stairway blocked with yellow tape, went under it, and descended into what seemed to be an abandoned parking garage. A few police officers were talking to each other while photographs were taken of the dead body, which was leaning against a pillar. Lestrade had obviously asked for the evidence to be left alone because John saw the toy phone previously mentioned, bright red and sitting inside a ring, burned into the concrete floor.

Sherlock made a beeline for the body and immediately began examining it, while Lestrade ushered the policemen away from the area.

"I'm giving you five minutes Sherlock," Lestrade said, "Then I'm going to need everything you've got."

Then he left.

Sherlock continued to examine the body. Searching the man's pockets, he'd found a few pieces of candy and a bottle with an aromatic liquid inside. Wafting the scent towards himself, he quickly confirmed it to be chloroform. The man's pockets contained nothing else. He then turned to the phone nearby and gave that a quick look-over before walking over to the burnt ring and bright red phone.

John stepped closer to the body once Sherlock had moved out of the way, looking at the body over his shoulder, "Caucasian male, looks to be mid-forties," he shifted the body just a little, "Feels like quite a bit of trauma to the back of his head and bruising all down his back." Of course, he could be talking to himself. Sherlock was too absorbed in his own deductions, only muttering a quiet "hmm".

Two minutes later, Lestrade re-entered the garage, "Sherlock, what can you tell me?"

Sherlock turned at the sound of the detective's voice and straightened, "I'd say he is a pedophile who definitely wasn't expecting the attack as he only had eyes for his target, whom he followed here."

"He…what?" Lestrade asked, walking over to Sherlock to look at the body himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Lestrade's confusion. "His clothes are not of high quality, they're worn and dirty. His hands are also dirty but not calloused, and he has a slight tan so he spends a lot of time outdoors but not working. His Blackberry is at least three years old. It has many scuffs and marks with a crack across the screen, yet he doesn't replace it—he's somewhat frugal. But he has multiple pieces of high quality candy which were recently bought, as well as half empty bottle of chloroform and multiple cotton balls. The chloroform was in his right hand pocket yet there are traces of it on his left hand; easy access. Marks around the inside of the bottle suggest that it started off full—he's used enough of it."

"A pedophile…" John whispered to himself, aghast. Suddenly, he didn't want to look at the body anymore.

"You said he was following someone?" Lestrade asked, still frowning, "A kid?"

"Yes. There are bits of gravel in the grooves of his shoes from the ground outside. As there are no scuff marks on his heels that would suggest dragging, he obviously walked down here voluntarily. The bottle of chloroform in his pocket and the faint smell of it on his left hand shows that he was either going to or had recently kidnapped someone. The toy phone suggests a young child. If he had abducted them elsewhere, he wouldn't bring their toy as well. It was dropped here, so the child was already here when he came down."

"Okay," Lestrade nodded, "So he comes down here to grab a kid. But then what? Surely a young child doesn't have the strength to cause this much damage to a grown man? And where are they?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but spotted movement behind Lestrade. Two figures were standing at the entrance to the garage, leaning against the walls and staring at them. Sherlock narrowed his eyes as Lestrade and John turned to see what had stopped him.

"Oi!" Lestrade said, "Who let you down here?"

The two figures stepped out of the shadows. One was a tall, thin man with brown hair and dressed in a brown suit, a tan overcoat, and beige Converses. He was currently smiling broadly at Sherlock, yet Sherlock had no idea what there was to smile about. The man stepped forward, extending his hand to Lestrade.

"Sorry about that. Just couldn't help but listen in on such brilliant deductions." He turned to Sherlock, "You, my friend, are really quite clever, has anyone ever told you that?" Before Sherlock could reply, the man turned back to Lestrade, taking out a wallet and showing to him, "Inspector Smith at your service. This is my partner, Miss Donna Noble. We just wanted to have a look, don't mind us."

Sherlock's gaze swung to the second figure, Smith's partner. She was smaller than Inspector Smith. Ginger. She smiled back, but not as widely as her partner. Inspector Smith, however, had already moved around the three men and was crouching by the body.

"Yes, he definitely died down here," Inspector Smith said, lifting the dead man's limp hand. He examined it for a second, "The odd thing is how he died. Like…his life was sucked from him, and then something snapped his neck to finish him off…" he trailed off, then he stood up and turned to Sherlock, "Mr…"

"Holmes." Sherlock said curtly. John saw his eyes flitting over Inspector Smith's face and braced himself for the imminent spew of deductions.

"Holmes, right, brilliant name. And you?"

It was a second before John realized Smith was addressing him. "John. John Watson."

"Look," Lestrade said, turning around and walking back up the steps, "Five more minutes, and then I'm bringing the team back down here." He left the garage, leaving Smith to examine the body as Sherlock, John, and Donna Noble stood over him. As John expected, twenty seconds passed before Sherlock started talking.

"So, who are you, really? You're an Inspector just as much as I am."

"Wait, what?" John said, looking between Sherlock and the still smiling Smith "I saw his credentials and it said, right there, 'Inspector John Smith'."

"Really?" Sherlock said, "Does he look like an Inspector to you?"

Smith stood up, "You're right, of course. Hello, I'm the Doctor!"

"Doctor Smith?" John asked.

'Nope! Just 'The Doctor'."

"But," John asked, still confused, "Why did your ID say Inspector? Are you impersonating a policeman?"

The Doctor took out his ID again and was going to hand it to John. Sherlock intercepted it.

"It's blank. Yet John saw credentials-."

"Yeah, don't mind that. What we should mind," the Doctor said, running over to the ring on the floor, "Is this here. Very odd…"

"But Doctor," Donna spoke up for the first time, "It's just a burn."

"Not _just_ a burn," the Doctor said, pulling out a strange device. He pressed a button and a buzzing noise echoed through the garage, "It's an unusual burn. According to the sonic, whatever made it wasn't human. There's a faint residual energy on the spot but…"

"Wait what?" John asked, completely confused, "Not human?" He saw Sherlock's eyes sharpen with curiosity.

"It's odd though," the Doctor continued, "I haven't seen this kind of energy in…a very long time."

At that moment, Lestrade came back down, "You've all got to go now. Sherlock, I'll need your findings later."

They all left the garage, wincing at the sudden sunlight. John and Sherlock were halfway to the main road before they realized that their acquaintances were not following them. They had headed right, back down the way they had come, to call a cab that would take them back to 221B. Donna and the Doctor, however, had turned left instead of right.

"Hey," Sherlock called, "If you keep going that way, you'll hit a dead end."

"Oh, we're fine." The Doctor waved his hand dismissively.

"Hmm," Sherlock said, "A man and a woman with imaginary credentials that trick Scotland Yard show up out of nowhere, obviously travelers-."

"Not imaginary. I saw them. Fake, yes, but not imaginary." John said.

"No, the paper was blank. I don't know what you saw, but it was blank."

"It really wasn't, Sherlock."

"Hmm," Sherlock was still looking in the direction that the Doctor and Donna had disappeared, "Curious." To John's surprise, Sherlock pulled the ID out of his pocket and looked at it again, "The Doctor values it; once he realizes its missing, I think we'll get all the answers we need."

"What are you doing with that?" he hissed, "You have to give it back!"

Sherlock only shoved the paper back into his pocket and turned to hail a cab.

 


	3. The Enemy of My Enemy

To John's utter frustration, Sherlock kept a firm grip on the leather wallet that held nothing but Inspector Smith's ID. Even when they returned to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock spent an hour examining the wallet, opening and closing it as if expecting something to change. John just hoped that Inspector Smith wouldn't press charges for theft if they got it back to him quickly enough. There didn't seem to be any chance of that, especially now that Sherlock was interested in it. They had gotten a  
call from Lestrade, telling them that the victim had been identified as Jonah Ashwell, but Sherlock had just thanked the detective inspector and went back to studying the wallet.

Now, Sherlock was lying on the sofa, sitting in silence and staring at the ceiling. John was relieved that Sherlock had finally decided to leave the thing alone and, as he sat across from him with a cup of tea in his hand, asked, "So, what do you think of the case?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock asked, looking down at his friend, "Oh, the case. I've already identified the murderer. It's the 'how' and 'why' that's a mystery."

"You…what?!" John recalled the crime scene and couldn't see how Sherlock had found out the murderer already, "Who killed him then."

"The child." Sherlock said it so matter-of-factly that John wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

"The child? Why would you think that?"

"The position of the body indicated that his attacker was facing him. We already established that he made his way down into the garage by himself. He was following a young child with the intention of harassing her…"

"Her?" John asked. He was ignored—Sherlock was too far gone in his explanation.

"…he wouldn't have targeted her if she had a companion. They weren't interrupted because, again, his attacker was in front of him and his body was facing the back of the garage. Focusing on the scene itself, the only thing across from him was the toy  
phone, belonging to the girl. Conclusion: she did it. It's simple."

John still couldn't see how, "But if it was the kid, then isn't the motive self-defense?"

"Not completely," Sherlock said, "If it was self-defense, her aim would have been to get away as quickly as possible, not stick around to beat him up enough to kill him."

"But there's that. How could a young child cause that much damage to one person." He paused before asking, "So what's the deal with stealing Smith's wallet? You do know he's going to want that back."

"As I said," Sherlock replied, "And as he confirmed, his name isn't Smith and he's obviously not an Inspector. His attire and physique show a much more active lifestyle than anything boring police-work has to offer. Too much running. From what I could tell though, he's been somewhere with a lot of books recently, like a library."

"How do you know that?"

"The smell of books," Sherlock said, looking back up at the ceiling, "It lingers."

John shook his head and was about to reply when the sound of knocking reached their ears. Both of them waited as they heard Mrs. Hudson greet whoever was at the door.

"Hello," they heard her ask, "Are you here for Sherlock?" Sherlock smiled and put his hands on his chin.

"I do believe I'll be getting some answers soon." He said. John didn't even bother asking how he figured that.

Of course, Sherlock was right; a few seconds later, Smith—or 'the Doctor'—stepped into the flat along with his companion. Donna, John remembered her being called, looked a bit annoyed, but the Doctor still had that airy smile on his face.

For a second, all John could do was stare. Sherlock looking at Smith and Donna with a calculating gaze but the Doctor looked right back at him, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"Hello Sherlock Holmes," he said, "I think you have something of mine. I noticed that it was gone and asked a lovely chap on the street if he knew where you lived. Nice place, this, by the way." The Doctor's eyes flitted around the room before landing back on Sherlock.

Sherlock made no move to retrieve the wallet.

Donna huffed from the Doctor's side, "Did nobody tell you that it's rude to nick people's stuff?"

"Hmm," Sherlock smirked at her but spoke to the Doctor, "I'm sure you're the kind of person who knows honest curiosity when he sees it."

"Quite right. Curiosity never hurt anyone," the Doctor agreed, ignoring Donna's snort of disbelief, "But, see, that paper's important. It's not the kind of thing I want people examining."

"Why is it blank?"

The Doctor gave a small laugh, "You're another one, aren't you?"

"One what?" John asked, "I don't get it."

"Psychic Paper," the Doctor said, "Only shows what the user wants you to see. I wanted you to think I was Inspector Smith so my credentials said so."

John looked between Sherlock and the Doctor; Sherlock was slowly nodding in comprehension but he still didn't get it, "Okay. If that was possible, why can't Sherlock see it?"

The Doctor started rocking on his heels, still looking at Sherlock, "Because he's clever. Well, really clever. The last person who saw through it was Shakespeare!"

John rolled his eyes. Great, he thought, something else to boost Sherlock's already massive ego. Then, he gave a start as the Doctor's words sank in.

"Wait…Shakespeare?!"

The Doctor waved a dismissive hand and pulled out the same pen-like device he had earlier at the crime scene. He waved it around the flat until he kept it pointed towards the kitchen. He walked past John and cried, "Aha!" when he saw the leather wallet sitting under Sherlock's microscope. Sherlock made no protests but John saw him frown as he kept his eyes trained on the device in the Doctor's hand. He was obviously trying to figure out what it was and failing. Suddenly, a loud beeping rang through  
the flat, causing all of them, except the Doctor, to jump. The noise seemed to be coming from his long tan coat.

The Doctor rummaged in his coat pocket, putting his hand in deeper than the pocket seemed to allow, and pulled out a second device, this one looking like a box with a convoluted mess of wires covering it. The small dish on top was spinning in dizzying circles.

"That's not good," he said, frowning, "There's been a spike in negative astral energy." He looked up at the expectant expressions directed at him. "So sorry Sherlock, John—we've got to go! Come on, Donna!"

He turned and bolted out the door before anyone could ask what was going on. Donna smiled apologetically at Sherlock and John before following the Doctor out. They heard her call out, "Wait up!" before the sound of the door slamming reached their ears.

Sherlock and John stood in stunned silence at their guests' abrupt exit.

"Well that was…interesting." John said, not exactly knowing how to describe the whole event.

"Yes." Sherlock agreed, but from the tone of his voice, he didn't mean what John had been thinking. Sherlock must have seen the puzzled look on John's face because he added, "I was able to learn quite a bit more about the Doctor."

"Like what?"

"My original theory about their lifestyle was confirmed, the Doctor's shoes had very worn soles but that model of Converse trainers came out," Sherlock pulled out his phone, "two years ago. Whatever he does, it involves a lot of running. They travel around a lot but clearly don't spend much money so they have their own car; looking at his hands and clothing, he clearly cares about it. He and Miss Noble haven't known each other for very long. He got his overcoat from a friend or family member who he  
was close to. He recently lost someone…"

Sherlock clearly would have continued his spiel, if it wasn't for the fact that his phone started ringing beside him at that moment. He frowned at the interruption but picked up his phone anyway.

"Sherlock Holmes." He greeted, annoyed.

"I think you should get over here," Lestrade replied, "I'm sending you the address. We've got another one. Exactly the same as the other one."

"I'll be there." Sherlock said before hanging up.

"What was that?" John asked. The excited glint in Sherlock's eyes had returned.

"Come on John," Sherlock said, jumping out of his chair and heading out the door, "That was Lestrade."

"Another death?" John couldn't believe it. Two deaths in the space of an hour and a half? "You still think it's the kid?"

Sherlock didn't respond; he was already out the door.


	4. Fuel to the Fire

The playground was two blocks from the first crime scene, deserted, the swings creaking back and forth in the mild breeze. Any children who could have been playing here had long since gone home. Yellow tape surrounded the entire area and policemen were milling about, crawling over the equipment like ants, searching for clues. John pulled his coat a little closer as he walked behind his partner. Lestrade met them as they got closer to the scene.

"Exact same as the earlier one, snapped neck and other physical injuries without a sign of an attacker," Lestrade said, "Except it's a young woman this time and there's no toy. Our men have already ID'd her; her name is Sandra Leeway, no obvious connections to Mr. Ashwell yet, but we're still digging."

"Where's the body?" Sherlock asked, barely breaking his stride. However, he needn't have asked, as the young woman in question's pale yellow jacket came into view.

She was lying on the ground, half buried in the wood chips, the back of her head smashed against one of the supports holding up a slide. Her blonde hair framed her face, which was dotted with specks of dirt and blood. Her eyes were wide open in fear. Tracks dug deep into the ground trailer from her heels to the edge of the playground.

Both John and Sherlock crouched down beside the body. Sherlock examined her clothing and immediate surroundings while John examined the open gash in the back of her head. It was deep, but not deep enough to kill her, although she would have been in an immense amount of pain. He figured it was the snapped neck that killed her but, just like before, there were no fingermarks or bruising around her neck.

"Interesting," Sherlock said, "It's definitely the same attacker as before."

"How can you tell?" John asked.

"Both victims were thrown up against a solid object, hard enough to hurt but not enough to kill, before having their necks snapped. If you _had_ noticed, in the garage, there were marks on the side of a pillar near the body that seemed to have been drawn in a tar-like substance. Some residue on Miss Leeway's blouse matches that substance in color and thickness."

"She could have been killed elsewhere and just placed here." Lestrade piped up from over Sherlock's shoulder.

John sighed as Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Even your men must have noticed the lack of a blood trail. If her head was cracked open and she was killed at the end, or should I say the beginning, of the marks, I think her head would be bleeding enough to leave a trail as the killer dragged her. I'm sure John could tell you that the cut is deep enough for such blood loss. No, she was killed up there," Sherlock pointed a gloved hand towards the edge of the playground, "And I bet that if we move up here…"

Sherlock followed beside the drag marks with Lestrade and John behind him. He kept his eyes on the ground, searching for something. They crossed the yellow border and climbed halfway up a gently sloping hill.

"Ah!" Sherlock stopped and pointed.

John didn't know how the police could have missed it. Maybe they were focusing on the immediate crime scene and didn't think to make it any bigger than it visually seemed to be. Otherwise, they shouldn't have missed the circle of dead grass sticking out like a sore thumb among the otherwise verdant hillside. However, this time, grass was pressed down in the center of the circle to show two, childish footprints. Sherlock looked at John triumphantly.

"Okay, okay," John said, putting up his hands.

"Huh," Lestrade said, "So those two weren't wrong."

"Sherlock spun back around, "Which two?"

As if on cue, voices were heard, coming closer, from over the other side of the hill.

And The Doctor appeared with Donna by his side.

"You!" John blurted when he spotted them.

The Doctor looked up at the shout and grinned, "Ah, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. I was wondering when you two would show up!"

"But when did you get here?" Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

"About ten minutes before I called you," Lestrade answered for them, "Inspector Smith said pretty much the same thing you did, annoyed the _hell_ out of Anderson, and took off."

"Seamus Anderson," The Doctor said, "Unfortunately, not very bright. But he means well."

John was still stuck on what Lestrade had said though, "Did you say _ten minutes?!_ " he turned to the Doctor for some explanation, "But that's impossible!" The pair had left the flat only a minute or two before Lestrade had called them. There was no way they had arrived at the crime more than a few minutes before they themselves had arrived. Sherlock seemed to be thinking along the same road because he was scrutinizing the Doctor with more intensity than he had at the flat.

They stood in semi-awkward silence for a second or two before Donna cleared her throat, "Don't you guys have a crime scene to examine or something?"

"I already have most the data I need from observing, fine thank you." Sherlock snapped back, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor."

"Well I don't," Lestrade said, "I have to go talk to the forensics team."

As Lestrade made his way back to the rest of the police, the Doctor said, "You said you had most of the data, correct? What if I could give you all of it?"

"Doctor…" Donna sighed wearily, but the Doctor cut her off.

"Come on, Donna, when was the last time we solved a mystery with _Sherlock Holmes_?" he turned to Sherlock, "I've done research on you and I can't believe I haven't decided to meet you before! I didn't realize earlier that I was speaking to _the_ Sherlock Holmes."

Donna laughed behind him, "As if there are more than one."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," the Doctor replied.

Sherlock blinked in surprise and looked at John, who shrugged.

"Anyway," the Doctor said, "If we meet you two back at the flat in…oh, let's say ten minutes, then I can tell you what I found."

"Why didn't you tell Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't think he would…appreciate my input. You, however, might be more open."

And with that, the Doctor and Donna turned and headed back over the hill.

Sherlock waited a second before saying ,"Come on, John," and following the pair ahead of them.

They heard a grinding noise as they ran down the other side and were just in time to see something disappear into thin air.

"Even more curious." Sherlock muttered. He stood thinking for a few seconds, staring into the forest that began at the bottom of the hill. Then he turned with a sweep of his coat and walked back to the crime scene.

The Doctor and his companion, Donna, were quite the enigma. And, as usual, Sherlock was determined to solve them.


End file.
